


Ashes Rising

by Ramzes



Series: Ashes After the Wind [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 06:47:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3682062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramzes/pseuds/Ramzes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of oneshots featuring Rhaena Targaryen through her life after her world broke down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Black News

"Out of question!"

Never before had Rhaena heard her brother roar like this. He sounded like a man in rage, despite being just fourteen and normally very soft-mannered. In fact, he sounded so much like their father that the King's Hand actually swallowed quite visibly. Rhaena tried not to gape. What was going on?

"Perhaps we should ask the Princess about her opinion?" Lord Rowan asked.

_Please do! I want to know what's going on…_

This time, Aegon actually shot to his feet. "Out!" he yelled. "I will not have it!"

Rhaena looked at the Hand, willing him to leave. Whatever the matter was, it could wait. Just by looking at Aegon, she could say that this conversation would bring up more brooding, more nightmares, more days of silence and avoiding human contact. It could not be worth it. Especially when it was, most likely, just another means for the Regents to increase their power. Aegon was no more than a pawn in their hands. They all were.

The man seemed to have read her thought, for he bowed lowly to the King and prepared to leave just before the two knights of the Kingsguard, alerted by Aegon's shouts, appeared, their cloaks bright white, their faces carefully impassive. Aegon raised a shaking hand.

"Get out of my sight," he yelled. "And never again dare to make such an outrageous proposal, do you hear me? I will not have it!"

A moment later, the two of them were alone. Once again, Rhaena wondered what had happened because she couldn't start mending it if she didn't know what it was. But she knew better than to ask.

Aegon huddled in his chair, holding his head in his hands. When he had been a little boy, he had toddled over to her each time he got hurt or scolded by his parents, demanding to be cuddled and soothed. Rhaena had complied gladly, for she had adored this little ball of incoherent words and wondering purple eyes. But these days, it was touch that caused him pain. Once again, anger towards Alicent the Deceiver, her upstart father, and their entire stealing family seized her. They had not only killed her father and Rhaenyra, Luke, Jace, and Joff, her grandmother and… _No, Viserys isn't dead. Alyn said so. He's not dead. He's coming home…_ They had killed Aegon's spirit, ruined it just like they had ruined Baela's looks. Rhaena wanted to believe that her little brother would heal with time but she suspected that it wouldn't be so easy.

The entire Maegor's Holdfast seemed to hold its breath as the King hovered between anger and utter despair. Rhaena looked longingly at the sun making its way through the barred windows but she went to close the shutters anyway because the light surely hurt Aegon's eyes, after all those days he had spent closeted in his chambers. There was no Gaemon to distract him now, for Gaemon was dead and buried – yet another loss in Aegon's young life. Another innocent claimed by the monster of power and revenge.

"Is it better now?" she asked when, in the semi-darkness, she went to Aegon's chair, bringing a goblet of cold clear water. Small words, not too many, and the gratitude that he had left her in his chambers at all – that had to suffice. Her chest burned with sympathy and heartbreak at the sight of him, so young and so broken, so longing for comfort that something inside him would not let him accept.

To her surprise, he reached out and covered her hand with his own.

"Do not fear," he said resolutely. "I'll keep you safe. I won't let them do this to you."

At the end, it was Baela who told her what was about to come.

"A Hightower?" Rhaena repeated, hearing the high pitch in her own voice. Her embroidery flew in the air and from somewhere far away, Morning shrieked, feeling her horror. "I am to wed a _Hightower_?"

"I know," Baela agreed and laughed harshly. "I never thought I'd be grateful for the way I look now but by the gods, I am!"

Of course this Garmund Hightower would want to marry the beautiful sister. Hightowers weren't prone to seeing what really mattered. All they cared was brightness – the glitter of a crown, the soft shining of smooth skin. For the first time since the fall of Dragonstone, Rhaena felt no urge to comfort her sister, not that Baela would have accepted it more than Aegon would. She was too overwhelmed by the horror lying in wait for her in her future, a life spent with someone who had taken part in killing so many of her family.

Her parents had chosen her a suitable name, after all. Rhaena Targaryen, the Black Bride of Maegor's given name. But this Rhaena would have nowhere to fly to. She'd have to tolerate her husband because her brother could not help her, not like Jaehaerys had been able to help the first Rhaena. Yes, she had no doubt that she would be wed to the Hightower, no matter that Aegon might rage and weep with helplessness and humiliation.

 


	2. Black Despair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented!

Her husband to be was handsome. Dark wavy hair, chiseled face, a body of a warrior born… And yet Rhaena could not feel anything but horror and revulsion – and she saw them reflected in his own dark eyes, lurking behind the mask of his courteous manners. He wanted the prestige this marriage would bring him – but he didn't want her. Rhaena did not care whether he tried to get reconciled with the idea of sharing his life with Prince Daemon's daughter. She could never get used to him, she knew it, although she would try.

He was trying, too, she could see it. But paying visits to her, sending presents, inquiring about her health when he was unable to come in person – they could not fill the void. They could not really talk about anything important, could they? Their childhood was a topic that was forbidden; their life in the last few years was something that they knew about each other and equally dangerous to talk about. There were only so many compliments that he could make about her beauty – making her cringe because it was terribly untactful to Baela who always kept her company during those visits – and she about his gallantry. Was their entire life going to be a polite, empty torture?

The day of the wedding was coming faster than she expected. Nights grew longer as sleep escaped her. Food had no taste in her mouth but she forced herself to eat some. She could not force sleep, though, and old memories and dreams that she had thought forgotten came back, attacking her viciously. She had not loved Corwyn Corbray but he had been very gentle and patient with her, awakening her body to new sensations that she had just started getting accustomed to when he had found his death, taking the hopes that she had just started daring to nurture with him. Her life had been turned over for a second time in five years. Could they have been happy? She would turn on her side and bite the sheets then. Yes, yes! They could have been, would have been, if not… And now, she would never know happiness. Not with a Hightower. She prayed for this marriage to end in the course of months, just like her first one had ended, and she did not fear the wroth of the gods for hoping so. But she did not expect that they would answer her prayers either. When had they!

And then, Corwyn would step aside, making way for the one who had filled her thoughts and expectations since she had grown old enough to understand a betrothal. Luke would smile at her and beckon her with this expression of his that suggested that he had a new treasure to give her – a secret cave he had found in the rocks meeting the rage of the sea, a seashell in all colours of rainbow. They had been making plans for their life together. They had been so sure… Baela had used to roll her eyes and tell them that they were too sweet for her to bear. Jace would give her a serious look and say that he'd have to find more honey, or even sugar to keep himself in sweet, for he would clearly receive none of it in his own marriage. Rhaenyra had once announced that there was no way the girls' bridal dresses would look even remotely similar – "There's no way for people to keep the events apart if the brides look exactly the same and dress exactly the same!" At their escapades in the fishing village, fishermen would bring them some roasted fish and as they ate with gusto, those common men and women asked when the wedding would take place, hoping that it would be here and not at King's Landing because they wanted to see it…

Had some of these people who had loved and fed them been among those who later betrayed Rhaenyra? If so, if war could turn them against their queen who had never wrong them, what could she expect of a marriage saddled with such hatred on both sides? She felt chilled, crushed by black despair, and the sleep that finally descended upon her was fitful and filled of images that made her wake up screaming.

The night before the marriage, Baela didn't leave her sister's chambers. None of them would sleep and they had nothing to say to each other but they would not be parted. Baela stared unseeingly into the flames and Rhaena wondered what she was seeing. Perhaps her own impeding wedding. She had recently been betrothed to Alyn Velaryon and not too happy about it. But Baela would not be happy with any man. And tomorrow, Rhaena would wed one of the men who had helped that pass.

Midnight drew near when Aegon slipped in, as pale as a shadow. "I'm sorry," he said, not quite bringing himself to look Rhaena in the eye.

"It isn't your fault," Rhaena said sincerely, and he sat in front of the fireplace, hugging his knees to his chest. Rhaena's hands ached to touch him but she did not. And anyway, there was nothing that she could say or do to assuage his guilt of what he perceived as his failure to protect her.

To her surprise, he looked at them and gestured at them to come near. They did so and sat near the fire, not quite touching him. The fire cracked and hissed but when a huge log collapsed, the sound was strangely soft, although the embers scattering onto the stones and in the air were plenty. None of the three moved. They were spent beyond mere human fears and startles.

"You'll see we'll make it through once again," Baela said bravely. "In less than a month, Viserys will be back here where he belongs and Rhaena's marriage will last considerably shorter than her first one. And the Regents will be out in less than a year."

Aegon and Rhaena looked at each other with the same thought weighing in both their minds. And you'll be beautiful again? And they'll come back to life? In the hopelessness that was their life, the bright prospects their sister was laying out looked just as probable as the last five years never having happened. And still, it was good to have someone strong. Someone true. The Old, the True, the Brave, the Velaryon words were, and now Aegon thought bitterly that had Lord Corlys lived, the snakes at this court would have asked him about his ideas of his granddaughter's future as they hadn't bothered with the King. They would have, I should think so!

Now, all Rhaena and Baela – and Aegon and Viserys when he came back – had to look up to was the Regents' goodwill. And in Rhaena's case, the goodwill of her Hightower husband. Aegon shivered and moved closer to the fire that did nothing to drive the chill away.


	3. Oldtown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, cookies to everyone who commented. (Not baked by me since I'm terrible at it, though!)

Her first look at Oldtown made her hold her breath. She had heard that it was a magnificent city but she had never imagined such a thing. Such elegance. Such grace. Such variety. Cobbled streets and rivers, small houses that from this far, looked like the dollhouses her father had had made for her, magnificent mansions, the gleaming glory of the Hightower and the sea, oh the sea! Here, the squalor of King's Landing faded into an unpleasant memory and even the beloved Dragonstone looked gloomy and oppressive.

_I could have loved it here_ , Rhaena thought before reality overwhelmed her. She was going into the lair of a beast.

Garmund, of course, chose this moment to peek into the wheelhouse. "What ails you, my lady?" he asked.

_Your city_ , Rhaena almost answered but reconsidered. "The lack of my dragon," she said which was no better but she realized it only when she saw his face close. She did not regret it, though. That was the truth and she was angry enough already for having been forced to leave Morning behind not to care about hurting his feelings. _He_ hadn't bothered about hers, after all. _Just for a while,_ they had wheedled. _It wouldn't do well for the new reconciliation if you show up with a dragon._ Rhaena had been sorely tempted to tell them what they should do with the reconciliation they had bought with her youth and life. And she had been forced to leave King's Landing mere days before Viserys' return. The regents didn't want to take the risk of having Daemon Targaryen's four children reunited, although they now had _one_ dragon between them.

So Rhaena entered the city she would live from now on in a wheelhouse and not riding a dragon. Not a dragon princess but the obedient lady wife. She ground her teeth and smiled diligently, although her new attendants shied away a little. Perhaps she was showing too many teeth. She could do nothing about it.

At the gates of the Hightower, Lord Hightower waited surrounded by men and women dressed resplendently. Rhaena's breath caught as she glimpsed flashes of Daeron, Helaena, Alicent on so many faces. _We'll never live in peace_ , she thought.

The lord of Hightower was the worst, though. His expression bore no likeness to Aemond's cruel temper but the features themselves… She forced herself to chase the memory from her mind, an art she had cultivated in herself because of the court beasts that would have smelled the blood of any of the wounds of her heart had she not taught herself to sear them shut.

"We're honoured to receive you, my lady," Lord Hightower said.

"I am touched by your hospitality, my lord," she replied, finding refuge in her ladylike manners, although she railed at that demotion in rank that was not an omission. He was too experienced a man for that. "Your city is truly enchanting."

There were some other niceties exchanged, with everyone feeling the tension, the animosity between Rhaena and virtually everyone she looked at. Even the smallfolk, lost in the play of the sunlight across velvets and steel blades was silent, forgetting to cheer the new addition to the Hightower family. Only here and there, beggars fought over the coins thrown by various members of the wedding party, including Rhaena herself. She didn't want to be here and no one wanted her here.

A few meaningless exchanges more, a few more people whose names she couldn't memorize because she was too transfixed by their likeness to people she had feared and hated later, she was mercifully led to the chambers prepared for her. Her Cissa who had been with her for ten years now helped her undress, shooed the new handmaidens Lord Hightower had appointed to her away without bothering with polite manners. "I can attend Her Grace just fine on my own. I've been doing it for years. We're tired now. You can return later when she's rested."

They still went about the bedchamber, finding things to do. They had been placed here to spy on her, of course. She felt a savage joy that Oldtown considered her a danger, instead of a scared young woman not yet twenty, a princess without power, a dragonrider without a dragon, a sister of a king without royal protection. But she was furious nonetheless and she wanted them out of her sight. Silently, she motioned at Cissa to start removing her clothing, pretending that the other women were not there at all.

"Are those chambers close to my husband's apartments?" she asked after a while because it wasn't in her nature to treat people as if they weren't there, no matter what. The women had not asked for her, for sure!

"His bedchamber is attached to yours, my lady," a young girl said readily, pointing at a door almost hidden in the damasks adorning the walls. "We prepared the best chambers we had for you. A queen's rooms. The window on the far wall is overlooking the sea and the one left shows the Starry Sept. I've heard you were very devout. The High Septon will be honoured…"

"No," Rhaena said. "The gods have stopped listening to me, so I find invoking their mercy an exercise in futility."

The women gasped. But Rhaena had no time to lose over their shock because something else rushed to her mind, so distasteful that she felt it like sick in her mouth. Looking around, she realized that her new bedchamber bore the signs of a taste she had once known. Lavish upon lavish. The three-headed dragon adorning everything, even the ewer! The desperate wish of someone who was not a dragon to affirm herself as one. _She's just making herself ridiculous_ , Daemon had used to say. _No matter how many dragon pieces she acquires, she isn't going to erase the memory of who she was before Viserys raised her from the gutter._ "Who," Rhaena managed, "lived in this room before it became mine?"

She thought she was being admirably contained but the women cowered back and even Cissa gave her a look of healthy fear.

"Thank you for the answer," Rhaena said as if they had indeed voiced it. How has the Hightowers _dared_? "Now, take everything apart. I don't want a single candle. Not a tablecloth. And I want this bed put to fire!"

The attendants looked at her as if she had lost her mind. "But princess," one of them stuttered. "We can't… Where are you going to sleep in if we strip this room bare?"

But Rhaena was beyond such practical consideration. It seemed that another being had taken possession of her body and this fierce entity swept everything off the table, started tearing at the bed curtains, knocked a tall vase – decorated with dragon motifs, of course! – down, splashing water all around. "I want all of this destroyed," she said icily. "I don't want a single goblet remaining. A footstool. A Myrish rug! I'd rather sleep on the stables than spend a moment longer in a room that used to be hers."

She actually strode to the door, her head held high. She could not see anything, her tears spread a veil of fog before her. Fortunately, Cissa snapped to her senses soon enough to run after her mistress and wrap her in the first thing she could grab, a travelling cloak, before Rhaena could go out in the hallway in her skirt alone.

Behind them, panicked cries arose and the women started beating the flames out of a pillow that had caught fire when Rhaena had overturned the table with all plates, goblets, and candles.

 


	4. New Life and Old Wars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks you, Everyone Who Spared the Time To Comment, you make me a happy camper (or author, as the case might be!)

The days were flying off with speed that scared Rhaena. Having new people presented to her, sewing with the highest ranking ladies of Oldtown, talking about the life in the Red Keep, being careful not to talk about the life at Dragonstone and smiling, smiling, smiling… At night, she had nothing to tell her husband and he had nothing to tell her as well, so their interactions were limited to the same basic courtesies that she had had with any courtier. Nothing ever happened. Her life had entered a rhythm of composure, forced but lulling nonetheless, punctuated by moments when she or someone else put their foot in it. Just like the babe grew calmly in her womb, moving almost incessantly but gently, until she suddenly sprang to her feet, prompted by something that could only be a kick. A vicious one. Well, the babe would be a Hightower, after all.

Not that Rhaena was blind to her own father's nature. But sometimes, she could swear that this babe would get the worst of both Prince Daemon and his paternal grandmother's nature. Especially when after spending the first four moons amazingly free of complications, she got the nausea afterwards.

"That's because he'll be a warrior," was the old Lady Hightower's comment when Rhaena found herself paralyzes by the fierce motions in her womb.

"It'll be a girl," Rhaena stated. "My lady mother only had girls."

As much as she would like to upset her goodmother further, a stupid little hand grabbed her throat and prevented her from saying what had happened to her mother's only boy. The older woman also fell silent and of course, the current Lady Hightower, with her nine years of a barren marriage would not dare say a thing.

"I imagine I'll have a flock of lovely girls," Rhaena went on carelessly, enjoying her goodmother's twitches. The thought of her offspring losing Oldtown was unbearable to her, yet it was well-known that she had wholeheartedly agreed with her husband in supporting Aegon the Usurper. It would serve her right if her sons had only daughters between them!

"I imagine that your time among fishermen and other smallfolk has affected your perception, my dear child," was the lady's answer.

"Do you hate us so much?" Garmund asked her this night.

Rhaena gave him a look of surprise. He had only raised his voice at her when she had had the room set to fire. He had not said anything when she had rejected his mother's advice on gowns and potions alleviating the burden of the growing child, or when she had announced that the babe wouldn't be named after her goodmother or late goodfather. She had started to think that he just wanted to distance from anything to do with her and that suited her. But now, he was looking at her as if he expected an answer.

"I don't know," she finally said. "I don't hate _you_."

This much was true. He was handsome and courteous to her. Everything his mother wasn't. In reply, she never behaved with him the way she did with the lady.

"But you don't want us to have a son."

Rhaena kept removing her jewels, noticing with irritation that the emerald ring would not come off. Even her fingers were bloated!

_It'll be incredibly unjust if I go through all of that just to provide the Hightowers with a male heir._

"I'd just like to see your family squirm under the prospect of losing the title to a junior _male_ branch," she said, smiling sweetly.

He ground his teeth. "Yes," he said. "I suppose your father told the Queen something like that years ago."

Rhaena reached for a jar of oily ointment. "He probably did," she agreed. "Lady Mysaria was the only one he treated with respect… afterwards."

The anger in his eyes scared her but she refused to let it show. Instead, she focused on removing the ring but even with the ointment, she remained bound to it.

* * *

As the child grew in her womb, she could see how the control of her life spun out of her hands. She was now captive to the demands of her own thickening, weary body as much as she was to the great tower. She could snub her goodmother all she liked but the fact was, the older woman was wielding all the authority her goddaughters lacked. And while Lady Hightower didn't seem to resent it, perhaps insecure because of her barrenness, Rhaena seethed inwardly and sometimes quite outwardly. She only got the attendants her new family gave her – all spies, to the very last one; she had no money, her dowry having been immediately sunken into the depths of the family treasury. All her purchases had to be approved by her goodmother and because of that, Rhaena refrained from buying almost anything. If she managed to get a fabric of her choosing into the nursery that was being set up, it felt like a great victory! Even if Morning could fly here, she would be unable to climb her back, with this huge belly and the new haziness that heights gave her!

She could barely stand the women, with their incessant chattering and their heavy perfumes. Perhaps some expecting mothers appreciated conversations of childbirth gores but they only disgusted and scared Rhaena. Her goodsister's envy didn't do things much better. It was Baela that she wanted but of course, her sister was not wanted here, although Baela herself would rather come to be with her in her hour of need than with her new husband.

"It'll be a boy," everyone said, looking expertly at Rhaena's belly and she wanted to scream.

Her correspondence was closely monitored; every step of hers was followed. She had even heard her goodmother telling Garmund that she was not entirely sure that Rhaena's difficulties with her state were real ones.

"Her mother was up and energetic till the last day she gave birth," the dreadful woman said. "I wouldn't put it past her to use her state as a ruse to make us lower our guard. She's Daemon Targaryen's daughter, after all."

Rhaena wished that her troubles _were_ a ruse, so she could step into the room and throttle the lady! And the fact that Garmund didn't take her side was even more irritating. But in all honesty, why should he?

The next day, Rhaena woke up with a calmer babe in her womb and a flare of vindictive joy in her heart.

"Bring me some parchments, pen, and ink," she ordered. "Today, we'll celebrate a joyous occasion and I'll invite all the ladies in Oldtown to attend. I'll write to each one myself. "

White-faced, the women did as told and Rhaena did a little dance, as much as the babe would allow. She refused to think what her husband and goodbrother would do when they found out that she was throwing a celebration to mark the anniversary of Alicent Hightower's death.

 


	5. Confined

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented!

Pale-faced, with their eyes downcast, the women carried in meats, sweets, Dornish red… Rhaena could feel their fear in her bones and she wondered why this was. No matter what happened, they wouldn't be punished. She was the only one who courted trouble. Inviting it upon herself. At this moment, it didn't occur to her that it might be her that they feared about.

"Thank you," she said when the last bowl of strawberries was finally placed on the table.

The serving girl only gave her a look of mute terror. "Please," she whispered. "My lady…"

Rhaena smiled, touched by this small gesture of care. "Don't be afraid," she said. "Nothing will happen to me."

But the girl only glanced at her for one last time, pleadingly, and left trembling.

"Are you sure about this, Your Grace?" Even Cissa's broad features were cast in doubtful shadow. "This is a very dangerous game that you're playing…"

_More dangerous than the one that ruined all our lives – the lives of those who still_ have _them?_ Rhaena's lips pressed together in a thin line. "I am aware. But they cannot do anything to me. I am the pledge for peace between the Blacks and the Greens. And my husband's family needs this peace."

"As willful as your father," the woman murmured and Rhaena smiled.

The hours passed one after another. No one came. Had she really expected that they would? This was the Hightowers' seat of power. Even if Alicent had made some enemies here – and from the whispers and unguarder words Rhaena knew that she had – who would have dared to challenge the lord of Oldtown this way? Only Daemon Targaryen's daughter and no one else. She was not truly surprised but she felt even lonelier. Heading for the table, she filled a goblet of Dornish red and downed it.

Garmund found her some time later, her face an attractive shade of pink and the purple of her eyes deeper. Her smile was as wide as he had never seen it. "Good evening," she said. "You've come to celebrate with me?"

He raised an eyebrow, trying to estimate just how drunk she was. "No."

She considered this. "No. Of course not. No one here wants to admit what kind of woman she was. Because that won't reflect good on any of you, right?"

"Come on," he said, reaching for her. "Let me take you to bed."

She drew back. "You're still mourning all the positions and the power you would have wielded if she had managed to steal what did not belong to her."

He drew a deep breath and went to the window. A nice warm evening was descending down the magnificent city, turning roofs and canals into liquid gold far beneath his feet. Farther away, the sea shimmered with the richness of a deep purple curtain sewn with myriad of diamonds… or the sharp tinge of blood. He was doing all he could to leave the past behind. Why was she so insistent on bringing it back to life?

"A golden lair of thieves," Rhaena said behind him. "Does no one in this city recognize a woman thief for what she is? Or are they all too cowed to stand for what is right?"

She had gone too far. He spun around and strove for calmness but failed. "What was right about getting a bastard in line for the throne?" he asked icily. "Because that was what your stepmother was trying to do, remember? The Strong boys had no business…"

She screamed in outrage and reached out to hit him, clumsily because of her thickened body. He had no difficulty holding her hands and forcing her to stay put. "Are you trying to harm our son?" he asked icily.

Surprisingly, this was the thing that shook her. "No!" she yelled so fiercely that he had to wonder if he had inadvertently touched to the truth. Was it possible that she really would…? That she hated them as much as… His mind refused to bring this thought to the end.

Anger crashed upon him, stunning him with its very suddenness. Why had it come now and now when the first man had told him what his lady wife was up to? Or the twentieth one? He had lost count just how many people had told him that they were aware of Rhaena's prolonging animosity towards everything of his.

He let go off her hands, as if he was afraid that she'd burn him. "Do you realize what you did, you little fool? You've just rendered everything we achieved for the last years meaningless! Everyone knows that you have no intention to keep your end of the bargain."

Her hands clenched in fists. "My end of the bargain?" she screamed. "You mean the one neither my brother nor I were consulted about? I am keeping it! I am carrying your child, am I not? I am the one who's sick, kicked, bloating by the day! I am the one who will give this damned family of yours their heir – I am praying for a girl daily! I am the one who tolerates all these women gawking at me and giving me advices that contradict each other word by word. And in exchange, they cannot do me the favour of sharing in my celebration when I am their entertainment in their boredom!"

"Celebration!" he exploded. "Do you realize just how heartless you sound? No matter what you think about it, this is… this is…"

"What?" Rhaena asked. "Am I to expect that you'd offer me your most sincere condolences on the anniversary of those who died because of your kin's greed? My father? The true queen?" To her horror, tears welled out of her eyes.

"And the Strong boy?" he mocked, his anger magnified greatly by all the rumours he suddenly remembered, the talks of how sweet they were, the silver princess and the Velaryon boy who everyone knew was no Velaryon at all….

Rhaena gasped and the dark flame that had set her to put this same chamber to fire rose again. She dug her fingers into her nails to stop herself from lunging at her husband but it didn't help. How could she have ever hoped that they could live together in anything resembling harmony? How _dared_ he pull this argument when everyone knew just how Alicent had made herself queen?

"Stay put!" he ordered, holding her at an arm's lenght. "By the Mother, you're mad!"

"No," she yelled. "You are. Your entire damned family, starting with the bitch whose death I am celebrating! Grasping for power and more power yet for no better reason that she was good enough in bedsport to amuse the King… I am happy that she's dead, do you hear me? I'll dance on her grave when I return to King's Landing… I'll dance on your father's grave as well…"

Her shouts echoed all over the place. He could hear doors opening, steps approaching, not quite daring to enter. Everyone was listening. The rumour that he could not control his lady wife would spread all over Oldtown by the day and over the rest of the realm – in no longer than a month.

"That's it," he said through clenched teeth. "You've gone too far. I've heard that being with child can make a woman mad but you really give me no choice. For your own safety, you'll be confined to your chambers until you come to yourself."

He turned on his heel, needing to be away from her before he did something he would be sorry for.

Rhaena felt the blood draining from her face. "Wait, stop!"

But the door closed, stopping her dead in her tracks. From this place, she heard Garmund ordering for guards to step in front of her chambers.

The walls pressed against her from all sides.

 


	6. Dragon Princess in a Cage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented and sorry for the long delay!

She vowed that she would show remorse and proper regret. She vowed it. She would… tonight or wherever Garmund would come. She promised herself every time when she could only take fresh air through her open shutters alone, each long moment she spent semi-reclining on her couch in an impossible contortion between the pillows because the babe would go in wild displeasure each time Rhaena would let even a small part of her weight go against her belly so she could never relax and lying in bed was out of question at all. The couch didn't let her truly sleep but let her doze and rest enough to go through the next day without collapsing, although it had been an eternity since her mind was clear.

Maesters came in and out of her chambers. All recommended darkness and rest and at the end, she refused to accept more of them. Garmund, or perhaps her goodmother insisted so she told the next old man that he'd better save them both the formality and just leave.

"But Princess!" he protested. "I must examine you and…"

Rhaena had heard those words before. They all led to one thing. "Out," she ordered curtly and when he hesitated, madness descended upon her. Who did they think she was? A doll that all those men could practice on, so they could finally recommend rest and some strong food, perhaps with some wine to calm her down? No one seemed to grasp the implication of her insistence that she couldn't hold her wine down no matter what. No one took seriously her demands that she needed some time _out_ to recover her strength.

She lumbered against the maester and pushed him towards the door. He was so old and frail that her clumsy move was enough to topple him over, his chain clinging on the floor. Servants came running just in time to see the maester lying prone, with Rhaena looming over him, face scarlet.

Freedom was not coming for her any time soon. Especially when Garmund showed no remorse and regret either in the few times he bothered to show up.

"When do you intend to let me go?" she would ask angrily. "Am I a prisoner?"

"No," he replied every time. "It's for your own good, Rhaena. You cannot be allowed to go out and vent in public. What are people going to think about you?"

"That the Targaryen madness is strong within me?" she retorted and by the colour rising in his cheeks, she knew that she had guessed correctly. At this point, any inclination to show meekness and obedience melted, leaving only the black hatred people whispered that Prince Daemon had been capable of. _A son for a son,_ she often thought. _And what would you have done for a daughter, Father? Me?_

She dreamed of him almost every night on her couch. His battle with Aemond. The swords and fire that were both dragons. The flaming sky. How Aemond fell down, Dark Sister in his eye. And yet she never saw her father die. Her mind refused to produce the image of a Prince Daemon sinking to his doom without life, without battle, without hope. Deep inside, a small part of her waited for him to throw the doors of her prison wide open and carry her outside, ready to kill everyone in their way… For Morning to spread her wings and bob her head in eager anticipation as she always did when she saw Rhaena…

Someone did lift her, often, and each time she sighed and buried her head against his shoulder. Someone placed her in a soft bed where she felt comfortable – until a wild dance against her bladder reminded her where she was and who the man was. Not her father. Not Luke who had been in the habit of carrying her inside when he found her sleeping under the dark trees in the garden after dusk. He was familiar, from scent to touch, and she would jerk away from him, wishing that she could run away from him and this unknown babe that was laying claim on her body and sapping all her energy.

"Rhaena," Garmund would say. "I was just trying to make you comfortable."

And then, she would rise and go either back to the couch or the privy, depending on the babe's whims for the night. She did not want him to make her feel comfortable. That would be a betrayal to all she was, all she believed in. To her mother and grandmother, with their free spirit. She was a Targaryen princess. No way that's eat from a Hightower's hand just because he showed some care and was the only one she could really talk to. He had made himself such! Even Cissa was not allowed to attend her. It was all part of the process of breaking her and turning her into the obedient mother of their future son and heir.

_It'll be a girl_ , she told herself. _Mother, please, let it be a girl!_

* * *

She was sitting near the window, looking at the sea and brushing her hair out. A recent storm had left its surface as smooth as a polished marble painted in blue. Crisp breeze filled her nostrils and she tried to breathe it in. She'd need all the strength she could muster for the hard hour expecting her any day now.

Who would attend her? Now Rhaena wished that she hadn't been so scathing with all the maesters examining her. The thought that she'd have to put her life in the hands of someone who had a cause to dislike her scared her. Midwives? But what if their knowledge was not enough? Even maesters had been not enough for her mother… and the memory of Rhaenyra's girl had been accompanying her everywhere lately, in all her perimeter from solar to chamber to privy. She now wished, more than ever, that she had never laid eyes on the poor creature.

Sometimes, fear grasped her, fear that she'd be left here to die alone so that they could take her son but not bother with her. Why should they? Aegon was helpless to do anything for her or himself, actually. It was the regents whose favour everyone sought.

Abruptly, she heard a sound she had not heard for so long that at first, she didn't recognize it. And then, the sound repeated and in a slow motion, the realization came upon her. It was a thunderous knocking. Rhaena almost tripped in the hem of her robe and pain ran aflame down the length of her right arm, starting from the hand that she had used to cushion her fall with.

"It's locked!" she cried out. The belly weighed her down and she could not rise no matter how hard she tried. The faint pains that had been bothering her since last night chose this moment to remind her of their existence.

"Get back," a voice that she did and did not recognize said and a moment later, a woman demanded, "Break this cursed door open! Why did you come along if not for this?"

A deafening crack made her abandon her attempts to rise and press her hands against her ears instead.

Baela and Alyn Velaryon stood on the threshold.

"By the Seven!" Baela exclaimed. "What's going on here?"

"They locked me in!" Rhaena explained and Alyn helped her rise, very gently. Baela embraced her.

"When your letters stopped coming, I knew something was very wrong but we couldn't really do much. We had to do something about the regents first."

Rhaena blinked. That was all too much. "The regents?"

"Yes, they are… Listen, I wanted to take you home but perhaps that isn't the best of ideas." Baela looked as if she had just now realized that Rhaena _would_ give birth in the span of days.

Rhaena laughed. "Are you jesting? The idea is a marvelous one! We just have to find my people. Cissa… The stableboys…"

"I saw Cissa," their companion, very young and fair-haired, said. "On our way here. She'll summon the others. If we're going away, we'd better go now."

Rhaena looked at him over Baela's shoulder. "And she just _obeyed_?" she asked incredulously. "Cissa doesn't follow the instructions of strangers!"

His smile was a little sad and a little eager, tugging at her heart even before he spoke. "I am not a stranger," he said. "I'm family."

She gasped, the pieces arranging themselves immediately. She had thought him dead, mourned him, rejoiced in the news of his being alive – and all that had taken so much time that she hadn't even recognized him.

"Viserys!"

He swallowed but the grin that appeared on his face was one that could win any heart. "Now, you're really making me feel welcome."

She clung to him as best as she could over the belly and felt that he was clinging to her just as hard. It was so strange to feel that he was the taller one now.

"What's going on here?"

Her joy evaporated. She slowly turned around but Viserys didn't let go off her. "Your husband?" he asked calmly. "Do not fear."

"We're taking our sister home where she belongs," Baela snapped. "And don't you dare try and stop us, you swine!"

"Would you please get out of our way?" Alyn asked politely but it was clear that he wouldn't take no for anwer.

Garmund didn't get the chance to repeat, because, with a gasp of shock and shame, Rhaena realized that this time, she hadn't made it to the privy. Her face burned and the woman who had come with Baela and Viserys cried, "She's giving birth!", and then Rhaena realized two things: first, she hadn't peed herself, thank the Seven, and second, it was over with her plans of flight.

 


End file.
